


The Constant

by logicalDemoness



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos POV, Carlos has anxiety, Clocks, Episode: e027 First Date, Episode: e029 Subway, Fluff, M/M, The One True Timepiece, Typical Night Vale Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/logicalDemoness/pseuds/logicalDemoness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos likes to keep track of the time. It's a constant in a world of variables. </p>
<p>Set from "First Date" to "Subway".</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Constant

On the evening of July 14, Carlos returned to his lab feeling equal parts embarrassed, relieved, and ecstatic. The date had gone much better than he had imagined it would. Yes, he had felt the familiar heart-pounding uneasiness in the park—but Cecil didn't seem to have caught on that “testing the trees” was just a diversion to combat an anxiety attack and not a legitimate scientific study. In fact, he'd thrown himself wholeheartedly into the task. Carlos felt a little guilty about that and made a mental note to explain himself next time. But other than that? The dinner was surprisingly delicious, they had fun together, and they hadn't even gotten consumed by buzzing shadow energy.

Right. The shadows. He snapped out of his reverie. There was much work to be done tonight; he'd have to break out the oscilloscope again if he was to have any hope of understanding how to reverse the absorption effect. But first, he opened his phone's calendar and highlighted the fourteenth day of every coming month, with the simple notes “1 month”, “2 months” and so on up to “1 year”.

Carlos liked to measure the time. Measuring things was one of the most important parts of being a scientist, almost as important as thinking, and keeping the time was a personal ritual that gave him a sense of peace. Clocks didn't work within city limits (with the merciful exception of his own wristwatch, bought in a little shop in San Francisco many years ago), but calendars were mostly fine, except for not recognizing Superdays. Today was the fourteenth and today was the day Carlos had plucked up the courage to kiss Cecil in the sunset and had felt his whole world changing—which he felt often since coming to Night Vale, but never as beautifully as this. He wanted to bottle up this day, to preserve it in amber so he could keep it on a windowsill and watch the light glint through it, so that paleontologists millions of years hence would find proof of his love in fossilized glory. The next best thing, he supposed, was to remember it and celebrate it always.

Was it too optimistic to go up to one year? He didn't think so.

\--- 

In the days and weeks that followed, the two men became closer and more comfortable with each other. Quick text messages about work turned into long and intimate chats; dinner dates turned into overnight stays. Carlos found that whenever he was with Cecil he carried himself a little taller, spoke a little more smoothly. The worry was still there, but it didn't seem to matter as much. Cecil always appended loving adjectives before Carlos' name: perfect, sweet, gentle, reliable. Carlos blushed a little every time, but less so than when he had only heard such praise over the radio.

On the night of August 10, the pair were on Cecil's couch watching a movie, both too tired from work for anything more. Cecil had chosen _Cinema Paradiso_ , one of his favourites, which he had watched at least a dozen times and insisted Carlos needed to see. Now the film was almost over, and the radio host rested his head against Carlos' shoulder and yawned. “What time is it?” he mumbled.

Carlos checked his watch. “10:30, assuming time is still running at a rate of one second per second.” He meant it only half in jest.

Cecil stretched out. “Well, what even is a second? Just an arbitrary measurement of our lives, a heartbeat transformed into mechanical ticking. How long it lasts depends entirely on your circumstances.”

He knew Cecil was just getting into his poetic-existential mood, but Carlos couldn't resist sharing his perspective. “In science, a second is defined as the duration of roughly nine billion oscillations of an atom of cesium-133. You need a constant definition for measuring time.”

Cecil lifted his head sleepily. “Cesium? What's that?”

“Oh. Ah. It's an element, number 55 on the periodic table.”

“Tell me some facts about it. I love it when you talk science to me.” Cecil sat upright, eyes wide.

Carlos didn't want to be a bore, but greatly appreciated any opportunity to ramble about his passions. “Well, it's a very pale metal but its name means 'sky blue' because its emission spectrum is bright blue. Plus it burns blue or purple! It's the softest element on the Mohs scale, only a 0.2. It's got a lot of really interesting scientific applications, you can use it to make solar cells or vacuum tubes or infrared spectrometers—I've got one of those back at the lab, you should come by and see how it works. And lasers, you can't go wrong with lasers.” He paused. “Wait. Cecil, did you only ask me about cesium because it sounds like your name?”

Cecil gasped in mock offence. “No, I genuinely like hearing you talk. But also, it sounds like my name.” He smiled.

“Do you want me to start calling you that or...?” Carlos trailed off. “I mean I'm no good with nicknames. Calling things by more than one name is imprecise. It can obfuscate the truth, or cause the data to be misinterpreted. Like calling Apatosaurus 'Brontosaurus'; that still causes confusion today.”

“You can call me whatever makes you comfortable, my dear Carlos. But I would not object to being nicknamed 'Cesium'. Or 'Brontosaurus' for that matter.”

“Whatever you say, Cesium.”

“Not Brontosaurus?”

“I don't think so.”

\--- 

On the morning of August 14, Carlos' phone woke him up bright and early with a notification buzz. It was a sound that comforted him as much as the blanket enveloping him, a sound that let him know that he hadn't lost an entire day to sleep or bureaucratic oversight (it was a Wednesday, after all). The sun had risen without complication and the world was still apparently intact—events Carlos never quite appreciated before living in Night Vale. And it was the fourteenth.

Carlos had planned to take Cecil to Chez Richelieu for dinner that night. He had made the reservation two weeks prior and had triple checked the date and time with the management, even booking musical accompaniment for the evening. But when they pulled up to the restaurant they saw its front door had been replaced by a wall of translucent green membrane, as if someone had skinned a goblin and stretched the hide over the doorframe. Two figures wearing deer masks and three-piece suits stood in front of it, armed with bayonets and flashlights that swept across the premises. Carlos' heart sank as he stepped out of the driver's seat. Despite his best efforts, he'd forgotten to control for all the variables. In this town there were _always_ variables he hadn't thought of. His eyes flashed to his wrist instinctively, but of course it was bare now.

“Excuse me, ah, sir or ma'm,” he said as he approached the nearer one, “can... will we be able to—?”

“No civilians allowed,” said the guard. “This is a construction site.”

“Only... only we had a reservation...” Carlos usually wouldn't argue with armed strangers, and his brain was screaming _run away! run away!_ but damn it, it was their one-month anniversary and he wanted this date to go exactly as planned. “We need in.”

“You have many reservations about this place. You should ignore them. Come sunrise it will be part of a glorious new dawn of transit. Then you may enter.”

“Transit? This is a French restaurant.”

“What's a restaurant?” said the figure, and stared him down with molded plastic eyes.

From behind, Cecil lightly touched Carlos on the shoulder. The touch diminished the pounding in his heart considerably. “It's okay, Carlos. We don't have to eat here. We can find another restaurant, or go home, whatever you want.”

Carlos turned to look Cecil straight in his umber eyes. “You don't understand, Cecil. I had the table all picked out and there was going to be a violin player and- and I was going to-” He tripped over his words.

“Carlos.” Cecil took both his boyfriend's hands in his own and spoke in a calm, steady tone. “Are you alright? Are you getting anxious?”

“No. Yes. A little, but I'm not afraid, I'm just angry. I wanted this to be perfect, for you, because you deserve it.”

“Oh, Carlos.” Cecil grabbed him in a bear hug. “You know I'd love it no matter what we do together. So the big romantic gesture didn't work out. That just means we get to wing it. The night is young!”

That was the type of declaration that usually preceded very poor decisions, in Carlos' experience, but as Cecil led him away by the hand, he decided to let the night bring him whatever it may.

\--- 

By 8 o' clock, they had ended up at O'Brien's Pub with a pitcher of beer and an extra large plate of nachos. The bar was packed with college students celebrating a victorious soccer match against Desert Bluffs, and the din meant Cecil had to raise his Voice to say, “I got something for you.”

“What? Oh! Yes, me too!” Carlos replied through a mouthful of corn chips covered in the faintly glowing vermilion sauce they called salsa here. This was not a good moment for this, but his ideal romantic moment had already eluded him. Before he could say any more, he had a neatly wrapped box thrust into his hands, and he opened it to reveal a fat Swiss army knife.

“This one has 132 features,” Cecil explained. “It has a screwdriver, magnifying glass, slide rule, USB drive, a keyring, a pistol, all sorts of things a scientist might find useful. Look.” He took the knife out of the box, made a series of hand movements that Carlos couldn't follow, and was now holding a derringer that bore no traces of the knife's red casing. A second set of movements returned it to its original state.

“You never cease to find ways to amaze me,” said Carlos, dumbfounded.

“It uses a pocket dimension. Don't worry, the manual tells you what all the summoning gestures are.”

“Pocket dimension. Of course. Well. Your turn,” said Carlos, and presented his own gift box, with noticeably sloppier wrapping.

It was an analog wristwatch with a dark leather strap, its face adorned with tiny images of the planets in orbit around the sun. “It's lovely,” said Cecil, holding it up and letting the dial reflect golden light onto the bronze of his cheeks.

This was it. The moment Carlos had been waiting for. He took a deep breath and raised his voice almost to a shout. “Cecil, I've been thinking. You remember the other night, when I called you Cesium?” Cecil nodded. “Well, one of the things cesium is really good for is making extremely accurate clocks, the kind of accuracy you need when you're measuring the speed of subatomic particles. This watch is certainly not _that_ accurate, but as far as my research can tell, it's the only timepiece in Night Vale that works as advertised. I bought it for myself back home, and it's been a kind of anchor for me ever since I moved here. Whenever I felt like nothing made sense, I would look at it and be reminded of the steady movements of the planets. A constant in a world of variables. And I want you to have it now.”

Cecil sat in silence just long enough for Carlos to worry that he hadn't heard him at all, but then he said, “This... is really important to you, isn't it?” He wasn't shouting over the crowd, yet his Voice was clear as a bell. Actually, was Carlos imagining it or was the ambient noise dying down? Cecil continued, “Are you sure you're okay giving it up? What if you need it?”

“I won't. I have a much better constant now.” He reached one hand across the table and entwined his fingers with Cecil's. “I hope you'll wear it and think of me, Cesium.”

There came a collective “awwww” and Carlos suddenly became acutely aware that every eye in the pub was focused on their table. His face flushed; such attention came with the territory of dating a local celebrity, but he still wasn't used to the limelight. Cecil rose and leaned over the table to give him a kiss that tasted of salt and whatever unknowable spices were in that salsa. There was a round of whooping, a smattering of applause, and Carlos found himself unable to suppress a giggle.

The lovers soon joined their adoring fans at the karaoke machine, eliciting more applause with a duet of “Under Pressure” for which Cecil broke into admirable falsetto. They drank some more and sang some more and played a version of pool where the balls were invisible, and when they tired of that they walked back to Carlos' place in the light of the flames coming from the public library. The course he had intended this night to take was completely gone from Carlos' mind.

\--- 

On the afternoon of August 15, there was a knock on Carlos' door. He sprang to it, knowing exactly who it would be and why. It had been only ten minutes since Cecil had signed off and yet here he was, glowing with joy and nearly breathless. He rushed to embrace Carlos as soon as the door opened.

“Carlos! It's so wonderful to see you again! I missed you _so_ much!” said Cecil, running a hand through the scientist's hair and peppering his cheeks with little kisses.

“I saw you this morning, Cecil,” said Carlos, hoping to ground him back in the present.

“I know, but it feels like it's been so much longer.” Cecil pulled out of the hug. “I was on a journey through the cosmos and it feels like it's been, well, forever!”

Carlos rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “So why did you get on the subway after I texted you about the possible DNA corruption?”

“Well the noise was making it impossible to finish my show, and Intern Dylan was already gone so I had to go resolve that problem myself,” Cecil said matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious that anyone in his position would have done the same.

“I just worry about you, throwing yourself into danger like that,” said Carlos.

“But it was worth it. I feel so invigorated, so alive, and so, so glad to be back here with you.”

“Do you not mind that you were in there for subjective years? Were you not terrified that you would never come back?” _Because I was_ , he thought. Carlos had been glued to the radio, wondering if he should have run out into the subway himself or called for help. Ultimately, though, he trusted his boyfriend to take care of himself.

Cecil grinned even wider. “Oh, dear, sweet, sensitive Carlos. Of course it was harrowing in there, but I got through it because I understood that all those weeks and months weren't real; that it was just the way my mind made sense of the infinity of experience in there, like a dream. And like all dreams and indeed all subway rides, it would be over sooner than I expected.”

“Oh? And how did you figure that out?”

“It was simple. Whenever I started to lose track of time, I would just look at my watch and see that the hands hadn't moved at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> All facts about cesium are accurate according to Wikipedia.   
> Thanks to cecilspeaks.tumblr.com for transcripts so I could check everything for canon accuracy.   
> Yes, this fic is titled after my favourite episode of Lost, how did you know.  
> You can find me at whokilledcecilpalmer.tumblr.com if you want to see a blog that's mostly reblogs.


End file.
